


Gardenia

by LunaDePlata



Category: Persona 2
Genre: Anger, Angst, Drabble, Jun-centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDePlata/pseuds/LunaDePlata
Summary: Jun can't sleep, and neither can his thoughts. A short vent piece.
Relationships: Kurosu Jun/Suou Tatsuya
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Gardenia

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I wrote this a few months ago and never posted it. It's a bit messy, but I said, hey, there aren't enough works in the persona 2 tag!! So. Here's a little contribution! Jun having a little meltdown.

Everyone needed sleep sometimes, demigods weren't the exception.

But even if his body felt like it would shut down at any second, he couldn’t close his eyes. Instead, he paced inside the small apartment, over and over, only the sounds of traffic from outside the window and the cold pain in his head keeping him company.

Lights filtered through, hauntingly fast streaks of movement, of lives richer than his own, of those he had managed to bless, of those he had yet to grab a hold of. 

  
  
  
  
  


Either way, they all left him behind in the end.

  
  
  
  
  


He had yet to take off the wretched uniform, the supernaturally clean white contrasting against walls that had seen better days. Even if he kept everything as organized as he could, he couldn’t bring himself to stop the decay of the building itself, as if erasing it meant killing the thing that reflected his inner despair. It felt better like this, himself and his flowers, twisted and broken, growing strong despite it all.

His pacing only stopped for a moment as with trembling hands he began unbuttoning the white jacket, one button at a time. 

  
  
  


The ceiling had a few humidity spots.

  
  
  
  
  


He couldn’t find the button with his wandering hands.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He wasn’t going to look for it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He wasn’t going to close his eyes either, because every time he closed them he saw the pained expression of the love of his childhood wriggling against the choking hold he was being kept in. He saw his own hand tightening against the tanned throat of a murderer, heard his manic words, felt his manic smile under a mask that these days felt more real than the flesh underneath. At times it was an effort to take it off. 

  
  
  
  
  


He finally found the button, but the feeling of it made him eerily aware of his own presence.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Who was the murderer at that moment? The one who had taken life after life, dream after dream in a frenzied race to remake the world, to purge evil, destroy it all so it could be born again with renewed dreams, the one who had helped burn a shrine with a woman inside by standing there idly, or the one who started the fire?

  
  
  
  


_ Him, child. The cursed star. He began it all. _

  
  
  


Details felt fuzzy in his mind.

And despite the man having turned to charred bones and sticky black ash the only support figure that mattered in his life, his Big Sis, the woman that told him to keep dreaming, despite him having murdered her with excitement, with glee,

  
  


He was still  _ beautiful _ .

Even with pain filling those dark brown eyes, his face slowly turning blue, he was still beautiful.

Gorgeous.

Those seconds that were kept in a chokehold he had become a little too aware of the need that coursed through his veins to bury his face in his chest, to hug him and never let go, to be  _ looked at _ ,  _ loved _ , even  _ desired _ , if he was lucky enough.

  
  
  
  


Pleasures he couldn't partake on.

  
  
  
  
  


He wanted to slice his head off.

He wanted to talk to him. 

He wanted to see his blood spilling all over the floor. 

He wanted to follow him to the end of the world.

  
  
  


He wanted the inherent evil he felt inside of himself to quiet down and stop screaming a name he didn't answer to anymore, that everyone had forgotten, because he was better as a half dead idol, than a child undone and rotten.

Tatsuya gasped for air.

  
  
  
  


He let go.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ You’re being weak, child. _

**(I know.)**

It just..

  
  
  


It wasn't worth it to kill someone who didn't remember what he had done.

  
  
  
  
  


His pacing got faster, ripping off the jacket and throwing it over the couch of an apartment he wasn’t sure if actually existed, or if his own power had made it a reality because that's what he desired after running away from home.

He wasn’t sure of anything, other than he had to hurry things up, or his own mind would collapse in itself.

He hoped his declaration of war told through petals had gotten through. 

He hoped he’d see him again.

He hoped he didn’t, and that one of his executives killed him first, because he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be able to follow through with his threats. 

  
  
  
  
  


_ You’re being weak. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


He took a deep breath. The most important woman in his life had died because of  _ him _ , and here he was, doubting if he would be able to kill him. 

Of course he would.

He was a leader, a man of ideals, someone that gave others a chance to have their dreams. They could have anything they wished for, the only requirement was that they were sincere, and he could grant it to them. 

And if they were powerless, he would free them from their anguish. It was better not to yearn for impossible dreams after all.

He had the power to make a better world, an ideal one, one where people could be their best selves and live in peace. 

  
  
  
  


He could make a world he had been denied of. 

  
  
  


They, the Cursed Star and his ridiculous little team of traitors were the only thing in the way, and therefore had to be disposed of. 

Leaders had to make sacrifices, after all.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Silence felt deafening.

His head hurt horribly.

No beams of light came through the window.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He had so much power, so many who loved him, so many who followed his ideals. They were gifts from a father that had taught him the meaning of the stars, the meaning of a world where Big Sis was gone and his doppelganger had been the cause of it, the beauty that could be born out of such disaster, the powers he could grow into and with them help the world. 

He wondered if he would be bored once everyone ascended and nobody needed him anymore.

He wondered if anyone even remembered his actual name, or if the title he was going as had dug its thorns in deep enough.

He glanced down, and found himself face to face with the mask.

  
  


It stared back at him mockingly.

He choked back a sob.

  
  
  
  
  


He felt so, so alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!!! Gardenias in hanakotoba mean secret love!


End file.
